That Voice Which Calls to Me
by the-angel-of-words
Summary: The story behind Christine's red scarf from Wishing


Christine clutched the red scarf in both her hands, its length hanging loosely about her neck. Everyone had gone for the afternoon, save for her and Meg. Raoul's words still echoed in her ears. The plot to capture her Angel frightened her, but not for the reasons they all assumed. Meg touched her arm, which only made Christine jump.

"Christine? What's wrong? You know Raoul will keep you safe from the ghost." Meg helped her towards a nearby chair and wrapped one arm around her shoulders.

"It's not that," she said softly. Despite her strong will, the tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes. She lifted the red scarf to her face and drew a deep breath through the knitted fabric. It calmed her nerves and allowed her to relax in the chair.

"What's wrong then?" Meg asked as she took her gently by the hand.

Christine pulled the scarf from her face and smiled sadly at it. "Do you know where this scarf came from?"

"I always assumed it was something your mother made you."

Christine shook her head. "I had one long ago that she made, yes. But this one is different. My old one is tattered and threadbare; I can't wear it anymore. It's tucked away safely in my trunk. No, this one, I've only owned for a few years. It wasn't mine originally."

"Whose was it?"

Meg's words didn't fully register in Christine's mind though. She ran her hands along the lengths of the scarf and smiled again. That evening in her dressing room so long ago was still vivid in her memory. There was nothing unusual about that day. Rehearsal concluded on time and, after a light supper, she returned to her dressing room. 8 o'clock was the appointed time. Moments after she locked the door, the glass within the mirror dissolved and her Angel appeared. It had been nearly a month since he first came to her in the flesh, but being able to see him still sent a chill down Christine's spine. She smiled as he embraced her. On that particular night he wore a modest suit in place of his tuxedo. If she closed her eyes, Christine could still feel the soft wool of his overcoat beneath her fingertips. The smell of winter clung to his skin; he must have come from the rooftop. Melted snowflakes along his collar confirmed her suspicion. What caught her attention though was the thick red scarf tied and tucked neatly inside the lapels of his coat.

"Angel?"

He smiled at her and touched her cheek.

"Your scarf…"

"It reminds you of your mother's, doesn't it?"

She nodded and glanced over at the old length of fabric folded carefully on her vanity. Without thinking about it, she traced her fingertips along her Angel's scarf. It was much softer than her mother's ever had been.

"Where did you get this, Angel?"

"I don't remember. I've had it for years. Would you like it?"

"What? No, I couldn't…"

But her Angel was already pulling the scarf from beneath his collar. With a fluid motion, he slid it around her shoulders and secured it with a loose knot. Christine gathered the lengths in her hands and pulled it to her nose. It smelled of him, of sandalwood, oak, and melted candle wax. He smiled again as she cradled it against her face.

"Keep it safe for me?"

Christine nodded and sighed as he pulled her into a gentle embrace. She had kept the scarf near her every day since. It became a solace for her when her Angel couldn't be there. And even after all these years, it still smelled like him.

"Christine?" Meg's voice broke through the memory, the image of her Angel fading into darkness. She looked at her friend and shook her head.

"I can't be a part of this horrible plan, Meg. I _can't_."

"But the Ghost—"

"Is the man who gave me this scarf."

Meg's eyes widened as they darted between Christine's face and the scarf around her neck. "He…"

"Yes. I've hurt him terribly, Meg, and I have to find him. I have to tell him I'm sorry for all I've done. I owe him that much." Christine rose and started to move away, but Meg caught her by the wrist.

"Where will you go?"

"To the first place I heard him speak to me. My father's grave."


End file.
